


22 – “On a scale from 1 to 'fuck everything' how screwed are we?”

by Banashee



Series: Keep Going (KeGo) December 2019 [22]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Banter, Friendship, Gen, Injury, Missions Gone Wrong, Platonic Cuddling, Strike Team Delta, phlint if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21900658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: A building collapses around Nat and Clint. Classic. They may or may not be fucked.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson, Clint Barton & Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov, Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov
Series: Keep Going (KeGo) December 2019 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558123
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	22 – “On a scale from 1 to 'fuck everything' how screwed are we?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is part twenty-two of this small writing challenge that @Banana_Ink and I cooked up.  
> Basically, we came up with 24 prompts, which means 24 stories for 24 days in december. A way to cope with NaNoWriMo trauma, but also something short, sweet and relaxed to keep up a writing habit without stressing too much.
> 
> Check out the prompts, and most of all @Banana_Ink as well! She will be writing for her BNHA AU.
> 
> https://banashee.tumblr.com/post/189288814786/keep-going-december-kego

**22 – “On a scale from 1 to 'fuck everything' how screwed are we?”**

“Get out of there, now!”

They're already running when Coulson barks this over the comms, because fuck whoever is responsible for the intel they've received for this mission. The walls are crumbling and parts of the ceiling crash down behind them.

“Fuck! Run!” It's a pretty useless statement, seeing this is what they're already doing, but it feels right to say it, if only so they can hear that they're still alive. The exit is in plain sight, but _of course_ the building comes crashing down around them before they have a chance to reach the door.

There is a lot of yelling and cursing, then dark nothingness.

When Clint wakes up, his entire body is screaming in pain. Confused, he blinks and finds himself in a pile of dust and rubble. He can taste blood. When he looks around him, as far as he can from his current position, he can see Natasha a few feet away – not far away, but too far to touch. She is wide eyed and awake, her legs stuck under a piece of building. Instincts scream at him to get up and get over, but he can't – big, broken pieces of concrete with metal stuck in them are pinning him down, holding themselves up on other pieces of rubble, which miraculously lead them to not crush him in an instant. Moving still looks very much impossible and like a bad idea to try. Some of those pieces stab him in the back, shoulders and tights but at least he is alive to feel that.

Clint blinks again, roughly calls out,

“Nat, are you okay?” which is a stupid question given their situation but still.

She looks over to him, clearly shaken.

“I thought you were dead for a moment.”

“No, still here to get on your nerves I'm afraid.” he tries for a joke but it falls flat. Then he asks, “Legs?”

“Stuck. At least I can feel them, so that's something. How about you?”

“Peachy with a side of stabby.” He's feeling out of breath. Natasha looks at him darkly.

“I'm being serious.”

“So am I. There is metal stuck in my body where no metal should be.”

She curses.

“Comms?”

“Dead.” He doesn't dare shake his head, afraid to move and make this any worse.

God, dying in a collapsed building, just a few feet away from the front door seems so... Stupid.

He never had the nerve to go and finally ask Phil out on a date. He feels kinda stupid and regretful for that, too. And he can't even get any closer to Nat. What bullshit. He's tired.

“Stay awake, Clint.” Natasha orders out of breath, sounding just as exhausted as Clint feels right now.

“On a scale from 1 to 'fuck everything', how screwed are we?” He forces out, noticing that his speech starts to sound a bit like he's drunk.

“Pretty close to 'fucked'?” Nat replies, and time gets a bit funny after that.

One moment, he blinks against the dust, trying his best to not pass out but he's not sure if that is successful. Next thing he knows, a tremendous amount of pain shoots through his entire body and he may or may not be yelling bloody murder, and then everything goes black.

He wakes up in a bright, white room with a hard bed underneath him. But he's clearly alive, at least that's what he figures, what with the needles and tubes stuck into him and the thing that beeps near his head. Clint feels fuzzy – chances are they put him on the good drugs.

He dozes off and wakes again to a familiar voice talking to him.

“Phil?” he rasps.

“Yeah, it's me. Please try not to talk too much right now. You'll be okay, we got you in time. Both of you will be okay.”

“Natasha?” He asks, voice like sandpaper and panic rising in his chest. The machine beeps faster, and Phil reaches out to place a gentle hand on his arm.

“Just a few rooms over. She woke up and needs time to recover now. And so do you. Neither of you is allowed to get out of bed yet!” he adds quickly, gently holding Clint back from his sluggish attempt to get up.

“She will be fine. Both of you will be fine. I can try and set up a video call for both of you, okay? Natasha has been asking after you, too.” Phil offers, and that seems to reassure Clint for now.

Later, he and Nat communicate mostly through finger spelling and grimaces over a video call. There isn't much they can do, and talking too much hurts. But they're both alive, even when they have a long way back to health in front of them.

As soon as he can manage it, Clint slips out of bed and heaves himself over to Natasha's room, holding onto the IV pole that he's dragging with him.

When a nurse comes looking into the room the next morning, she finds the two assassins cuddled up in the too small bed, fast asleep and holding onto each other. She smiles, and leaves them to it.

This is exactly how Phil later finds them, too. He simply sits down on a chair in the corner and starts on his paperwork.

He might as well work here and keep an eye on his two favorite people.


End file.
